


She's definitely not fine

by veryterriblewritings



Series: Original work [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, from me to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29647959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryterriblewritings/pseuds/veryterriblewritings
Summary: A little bit of everything. Life is like a tin box of butter cookies. Sometimes you get actual cookies, other times you get sewing supplies and you never did learn how to sew.
Series: Original work [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733884





	She's definitely not fine

**Author's Note:**

> There's no way in hell these chunks of writings flow coherently. I just needed somewhere to put them.

You make me question life and my purpose. This isn’t my life, right now I’m running away from what supposedly my life should be. My path took a turn. I’m not sure whether the turn is a detour or a progress. I can never be too sure. I’m never sure. That’s just my whole personality by now. I doubt and I will continue to doubt, in myself and in others. In what I do and what I feel.

Diversion could be good, distracting you from all the wrongs that is your life. But despite yourself, and every single thing you stand for, it has to be the weirdest one, right?

I just wish I’m better at this. At living, not just surviving.

Everything just seems to always find their way to muck things up for me. They say I shouldn’t put the blame on me. That I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. The thing is I have never been the one to be too hard on myself. Because I always find the easiest way out. Get people to hop on my pity party. Acting like a child. Immature. Depending so much on my mom. Having no backbone whatsoever.

Too much and yet not enough.

xxxxx

I wasn’t entirely clueless. Although I had been acting like everything was normal and nothing is wrong. But I’m not entirely closed up to the idea that something’s changing. Because something is definitely changing, there is something that’s not the same anymore. Because there is that feeling that has been churning in the depth of my stomach. Like an open wound that I have been trying to cover with a mere band-aid. You can’t see the wound really but it’s not enough to hold the torn skin together.

And I had a feeling that something, someone is bound to rip that band-aid and leave my wound open until I bleed out. And when it does, it’s going to hurt like all hell.

xxxxx

You can’t make something perfect if it doesn’t exist. Which is why you should start writing anyway. Make garbage, make clichés, make cheesy, make terrible. Just make. Do it. Build it into existence. If it falls apart, you can pick up the pieces. If there’s nothing there, all you can do is catch the wind and be tired when a storm starts to push you down. You can’t fill in the blanks if you don’t have the questions and answers. There are going to be loopholes and unfinished sentences, hanging analogies and stupid metaphors. But at the very least, you can see them. You can’t fix a blank page.

If it slips away, move on. You can go back to where you were if you move forward. You can’t go back if you’re stuck in one place. Go everywhere, in every direction. Go on a path others have paved or make your own way through the forest. Either way you can always go back. Get lost in the woods, look at everything that’s unfamiliar. After a while it will be recognisable. Even if you can’t find your way back, you can still have other things. The most important thing is to move. Make progress. 

xxxxx

I was born in the nineties, but somehow my mind never left the eighties. It’s weird, I know. But there is always a sense of longing and yearning whenever I come across something from that era. Be it music, movies or just a picture of places during the time. There is always that churning feeling in my gut.

Sometimes, just knowing that something exists is good enough. You don’t really have to experience it yourself. It’s like falling in love. You read about it, you know it exists somewhere else. You know you have experienced it one way or another. And you keep it within you, hoping you can sustain that feeling, so that you can recreate it for your art. You might not feel it right now but you know how it feels like, felt like. So you start from there.

xxxxx

But, stop asking if I’m okay. Especially if what you expect in return is “I’m fine”. Because you’re not ready to know, you don’t want to hear the answer. Nobody is ever ready for the answer. So, skip it.

Also, I’m not just a form of crazy. I’m a lot of forms of crazies. A walking oxymoron if you think about it.

So, don’t ask if I’m okay. Okay people don’t write things like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Now you know how my mind works.


End file.
